By Joanna Cozzolino
“Better luck next time!” Lucy grins.
A river of jealousy bleeds through me. Her swan wings dance onto the stage. The lack of grace infuriates me.
Rejected, my feathers gather dust.
I watch from the sidelines as the performance ends. Lucy embraces the ballet master—lovers incognito. My throat tightens—a toxic bile in my mouth.
Closing evening:
The master scowls at me. “Sophie! Get ready! You’re taking the lead.”
Ruffling my quill, I prepare to fly.
Gliding through the air—a bird set free.
The curtain lowers, the audience rises.
Cheers and whistles echo.
My face alight.
It’s My Night.
Beautifully told. You captured the animosity well and described her moment of freedom with a poetic touch.
Thank you David
oh, I like the mystery of how its her night…